


ME2 Shakarian Alpha

by rprambles



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rprambles/pseuds/rprambles





	1. A is for Arclight

_n. a light source in which an arc between two electrodes produces intense white illumination._

He still couldn’t quite believe it. After two years Shepard was sitting across the table, very much alive, eating the same goop she always had for breakfast.

Two years. It felt like a lifetime since Anderson had told him, since that nightmare the Council called a memorial service. Since he’d followed a lead to Omega and wondered if he couldn’t do a little bit more than just what he came to do, push a little bit harder.

He’d pushed as far as he could – and then a little further. That little further was what it took for the mercenaries to band together and push back. They’d been smart about it, smarter than Garrus had expected, and it cost his team everything. He’d just about given up when she’d walked into his scope.

In a matter of minutes everything turned around. The mercs were forced back, their leaders taken out, and he’d even survived the night. He was alive, same as she was, and they both had a chance to set things right.

She looked up from her food and caught his gaze. “What?”

Garrus just smiled at the specter. “Glad to have you back, Shepard.”

He couldn’t quite tell, but he thought she smiled back.


	2. B is for Bandage

_v. to bind or cover with a strip of cloth_

“Ow.”

“Hold still.”

“ _Owww._ Easy.”

“Yes, be gentle with the very fragile turian.”

Garrus chuckled and winced. “If you keep this up, I might change it myself next time.”

“Mind if I watch?” Shepard asked, gently pulling the bandage from where it had seemingly bonded to turian plate. “Should be good for a laugh.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.”

“Forgot how.” She tugged a little harder on a stubborn spot and clamped a hand onto his carapace to keep him in place. “Hold still.”

“Could you maybe speed this up?” he asked between clenched teeth.

“I would rip it all off in one go, but Chakwas said that might take the upper layer of skin with it.”

“Never mind, then. No need to wake the crew with my screams of agony.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you scream. There we go.”

Garrus sagged in relief and took a moment to work his stiff jaw, wincing as his scarred mandible stretched and twitched. “Does it look as bad as it feels?”

Shepard was quiet for a long minute, the kind of quiet that usually went along with a great deal of thought.

“Looks clean,” she finally answered. “No sign of infection.”

“Well, that’s nice.”

“You’re lucky.” She dropped the old bandage onto his knee and he quickly brushed it away. “Should be changing this every day.”

“I got busy. Between calibrations and fighting krogan and keeping your ass alive-” Garrus’s words were lost in an agonized hiss as antiseptic seared across his face. He slowly turned to level a steely glare at her.

“What?” she asked innocently, setting the bottle on the floor. “Doctor’s orders.”

“And you didn’t enjoy it at all.”

She smirked. “Didn’t say that.”

“Definitely changing my own bandage next time.”

“I’ll bring popcorn.”


	3. C is for Concussive

_adj. a violent jarring; a shock_

Garrus winced when a projectile slammed into his shoulder, knocking him forward into the overturned table in front of him. Crouching low, he turned towards the direction of the shot: the upper balcony. “Having trouble, Shepard?”

“ _No._ ” A rifle fired and one of the Blue Suns tumbled over the railing. “ _You?_ ”

“Getting shot at from that side.”

“ _Learn to duck._ ”

Garrus chuckled and turned his attention back to the firefight. His brain didn’t let it go, however, idly turning the scenario over in his head. It was a shot from above, but not lethal. What mercenary would waste an advantage?

It clicked and he looked up again. “Did you take a shot at me, Shepard?”

“ _Concussive round,_ ” she replied blithely, and he could hear the smirk in her voice. “ _You started it._ ”


	4. D is for Defender

_n. a person who defends someone or something_

She stood resolute as the shuttle soared over the colony, buildings shrinking rapidly below them. She glared at the specks, as if they were to blame for all of this. Ridiculous, really, but she didn’t have much else to glare at.

“So how long do you think she’ll be in the hospital?”

Shepard blinked, reverie broken, and turned to frown at Garrus. “What?”

“Williams. You throw a hell of a punch, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s at least a week before she can smell anything.”

Anger mellowed to regret and she looked back out the window. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

“She was a bit out-of-line with the ‘traitor to the Alliance’ bit,” Garrus pointed out, a barely-audible note of anger in his humor. “She knows you better than that.”

Did she? Ashley had made herself very clear on that point. She didn’t know or trust the commander standing in front of her.

Staring at her reflection in the window, Shepard wasn’t certain who was wrong.

“Still,” was all she said in reply, voice almost too quite to hear.

“Shepard.” His tone was firm, insistent on her full attention, and she turned toward him. “You were thrown right back into the fight after being dead two years. You have no support from the Council or Alliance, you’re forced to work with known terrorists to get the job done.

“If you think I’m going to fault you for one well-aimed punch thrown in a fit of pique…” Garrus smiled and shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Shepard didn’t respond for a minute, taking in the turian standing before her, the soldier she’d come to think of as her best friend. He hadn’t doubted her, who she was or why she was working with Cerberus, and he wasn’t going to. She could always count on him to be there when she needed.

“Have I mentioned recently that I’m glad you’re here?” she finally asked as the shuttle settled into the docking bay.

“Concussive rounds do send the opposite message,” he admitted, mandibles spread in a grin.

“You started it, Vakarian,” she reminded as she stepped off the shuttle, feeling a good deal lighter than when she’d stepped on.


	5. E is for Ego

_n. a person's sense of self-esteem or self-importance_

She dropped to a crouch at the sign of mercs flooding the LZ, rifle tucked against her shoulder as she sighted in on a target.

“Bet I can hit more targets than you,” Garrus challenged, tucked behind a pillar of rock.

She barely spared him a raised brow. “You’re not that good, Vakarian.”

His rifle fired a second before hers and the target dropped; her shot pinged harmlessly off the rock.

“You were saying?”

Shepard didn’t say a word, just loaded a fresh clip. It was on now.

-

When all the clips and targets had fallen, she tucked her rifle away and smirked at the now-surly turian. “You’re buying, then?”

“You cheated,” he accused. “You’ve got that cloak thing. Why don’t I have a cloak thing?”

“You’d abuse the privilege, Garrus.”

“And you don’t?”

“Just to steal your targets. You’d use it on the Normandy.”

The comm hissed to life, Kasumi sounding more amused than annoyed. “ _Are you guys coming or should I ask the pilot to come back in an hour?_ ”

Shepard chuckled and took point, surly turian in tow. “On our way.”


	6. F is for Fallout

_n. effects; results_

Shepard ran her fingertip around the rim of the empty glass, debating the merits of refilling it or getting back to the pile of work sitting on her desk that she needed to finish before bed. And of course there was the matter of finding a suitable replacement for her rifle. She was not using a Viper, period end discussion.

Heaving a sigh, she poured out another glass, watching the liquid swirl and settle.

“Any revelations yet?”

She didn’t look up as Garrus joined her at the bar. “Not yet.”

“You look a lot less intimidating without your armor,” he observed, deftly cracking the lid off a bottle of dextro-liquor.

She casually drew the pistol on her hip – a precaution, she’d told Lawson, which had not improved the operative’s mood at all. “Can still shoot you.”

“True, but you won’t be nearly as intimidating.”

She rolled her eyes and tucked the pistol away.

“You alright?” he asked as she took a drink.

Shepard let the wine settle in her stomach before answering. “Just another day in the life.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you decide to come back from the dead.”

She smirked a little at that. While everyone else danced around the subject, the possibility of Shepard dying, Garrus acknowledged it as something she would do and openly teased her about it. It made the concept a little easier to deal with.

She looked up from her glass and caught his gaze. “How are you holding up?”

His humor faded to melancholy and he looked down at the bottle in his hand as if it held some answers.

“Part of me would still like to put a bullet in his head,” he confessed.

“Nothing heals overnight.”

He didn’t respond to that, just stared at his drink, and she waited for him to voice the question lingering in the air.

“Why didn’t you let me shoot him?”

He wasn’t upset or wounded, just curious; she looked down at her drink again, searching for the right words.

“It was tearing you apart,” she finally answered. “All that anger and guilt. Scared me a little. Didn’t know that shooting Sidonis would help.”

Garrus frowned. “But letting him go would?”

“Didn’t it?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then smiled. “A bit.”

Shepard smirked and emptied her glass.

“What did you do?” he suddenly asked, voice quiet again. “When you lost your team?”

She stopped mid-reach for the bottle and turned to him, an old ache tightening her chest. “You mean when I realized it? When the fight was over and I only saw two strangers standing with me?”

He nodded and she let out a long and heavy sigh.

“I was angry,” she admitted, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “But what could I do? The base was clear, no one left. Only thing I could do was go back to work.”

“Nothing heals overnight,” Garrus echoed.

“Been told it heals eventually,” Shepard added with a smirk and Garrus' mandibles twitched in a turian smile.


	7. G is for Gamble

_n. an undertaking involving risk_

_“More than one way to let off stress, I guess.”_

The words were innocent, not meant to get stuck in her head, not at all intended to spark thoughts of her and him and “together”, but there they were. And the more she thought about the idea, the fewer arguments she could find against it.

He was a good shot, almost better than her, and one of the best soldiers she’d ever fought with. He knew his way around a battlefield, always seemed to have a witty comment to take the edge off the stress. Being from completely different species was an obstacle, but not an impassable one. There had to be some information, the extranet had everything after all.

And he was her best friend, someone she trusted more than anyone else that had walked into her life. And yes, it was possible for this to end badly, that was always a risk. But she had a feeling it’d be worth the risk with him.

-

“We could test your reach, my flexibility.”

Garrus opened his mouth. And then closed it. And then barely resisted the urge to check his translator for a malfunction.

He was pretty sure Shepard was propositioning him. Shepard, who could drill a mail-slot at a hundred yards, who could assess a battlefield in a single glance, was propositioning _him_. She could probably have her pick of anyone in the galaxy, but she was leaning against his terminal and giving him that smirk that seemed to transcend species.

It had to be the scars. Some women liked scars, and apparently Shepard was one of those women.

He mulled the idea over in his head and honestly couldn’t find a reason why not. He liked the idea of a moment just for them in the middle of all the chaos.

“Yeah. Definitely.”


	8. H is for Help

_n. aid; assistance_

“Well, look who decided to emerge from his cave,” is Joker’s greeting when Garrus reaches the bridge.

Any other day this would have started witty banter, but today Garrus has a reason for “pestering the cripple”. “Got a minute?”

The pilot waves him closer. “Anything for you, turian buddy. What do you need.”

“Need your help with some, ah,” he quickly racks his brain for the right word, finally settling on, “research.”

Joker blinks once and then grins so wickedly Garrus starts to wonder if maybe this is a bad idea.

“What kind of research?” he asks, sounding far too thrilled about the prospect.

Garrus fidgets and twists his talons, nerves starting to get the better of him. “Ah, relationship. With humans specifically.”

“Oh, feel like trying out the fleshier side of things, huh?”

Yeah, bad idea.

Joker grins wider at his discomfort and clears the work off of one of the screens. “So what are we looking for? Positions, kissing, something a little edgy-”

Garrus frowns and taps his translator to be sure it’s working. “Kissing?”

Joker looks at him for a long moment, enough that Garrus almost starts fidgeting again.

“We’ll start with basics,” he decides, tapping away at the console.

-

“So.”

Garrus very nearly jumps out of his armor.

“Do you mind?” he grumbles at the woman who has just appeared in the main battery.

Kasumi just smiles. “You and Shep, huh?”

He stares at her in disbelief. He’d talked with Joker only that morning, the ship isn’t that small. “How-”

“Trade secret.” She hops up onto the console and idly swings her legs. “Anyway, I thought I’d offer some insight into our dear commander.”

He honestly doesn’t know what kind of insight she could have about Shepard that he didn’t already know, but it’s probably a better idea than the vids. “Alright.”

“Well, you and Joker already have the physical angle covered, but you can’t forget about setting the mood.”

Oh crap. He hasn’t even thought about that. “Mood. Right.”

-

“Garrus! Glad to run into you, wanted to talk. Medical matters.”

He already doesn’t like where this is going.


	9. I is for Information ( Too Much )

_n. knowledge communicated or received concerning a particular fact or circumstance_

She eyed the small crate sitting innocuously atop her desk with a glare that would turn any self-respecting ensign to ash. She remembered all-too-well the conversation she’d had with Mordin that morning, so anything sent to her cabin from the lab was not to be opened lightly.

With the caution one reserved for disarming a bomb she cracked open the clamps and examined the contents: one small container of what looked and smelled like lotion, several liquid-filled needles and bright yellow pills marked ANTIHISTAMINE in bold letters, and a stack of pamphlets, the topmost titled “ _Safe, Comfortable and (most importantly!) Pleasurable Interspecies Relationships: Turian-Human Edition_ ”.

The antihistamines and lotion, she was fine with. The pamphlets…well, she’d be a lot more comfortable with just chucking that in the trash.

She shook her head, mentally berating herself. She was an Alliance marine, she’d lived through worse things than most people could imagine, and she was not going to screw this up because she was too squeamish to do some damn research.

Resolve strengthened, she flipped the pamphlet open – and promptly shut it.

She rubbed her nose, letting out a flustered huff of air, and mentally debated the merits of going down to the lab and shooting Mordin.


	10. J is for Jarring

_v. to conflict or clash_

Little details and differences had a way of slipping under the radar until there was an active watch for them.

And then they were everywhere.

Three fingers instead of five, soft skin without plates, blue rather than red, fuzz and not fringe. That was just the obvious, the ever-present reminders that he was not like her and she was not like him.

It would be a lot easier to find something more similar, less worryingly different. But she’d always had a way of saying what they were both thinking.

_I don’t want something closer to home._


	11. K is for Kelvin

_adj. a scale of temperature measured from absolute zero_

Garrus was waiting in the elevator as the shuttle settled into the cargo bay, entering as soon as EDI informed him the airlock had sealed; Shepard was already out of the shuttle, helmet tucked under one arm, a damaged one clasped in her hand. She looked chilled to the bone.

She looked over at him, her expression somber, and then down at the black and charred helmet. Without a word she walked over to the workbench beside the door and set down both helmets. From the damaged one she removed a collection of dogtags, carefully laying them out. Twenty in all.

She then returned her attention to the helmet, picking it up and turning it over in her hands. Garrus didn’t pry or try to nudge her into conversation; he knew she wouldn’t say a word unless she wanted to.

There was still snow on her armor, he noticed, mostly flakes that were slowly melting to leave a sheen of water. He repressed a shiver at the memory of Noveria, how bitterly cold it had been, and brushed off a clump clinging to her pauldron.

She looked at him, as if remembering he was there. Taking the first deep breath since she’d returned, she tapped the shattered visor. “Last time I saw that it was a crack.”

Garrus studied the helmet for a moment. It was a wreck, battered and blackened by the decent into Alchera. His stomach twisted at the thought that Shepard had once looked the same, a twisted charred mess until Cerberus had decided to bring her back. He didn’t like Cerberus, but he’d always be grateful for that. If they hadn’t-

He quickly shoved that thought from his mind. She was alive and real and here, and so was he. Thank the Spirits for that.

Garrus shook his head a little to clear it and tapped her elbow; she blinked, apparently lost in her own thoughts. “C’mon. You must be freezing. Let’s get you out of that.”

Her somber face cracked into a wicked smirk and Garrus realized what he’d said.

“Thought you wanted to wait on that,” she reminded, her tone sly.

He stammered for a second. “I…okay, that came out wrong.”

“Of course.” She chuckled warmly, and then she reached out and took his hand. Her smirk had softened to a rare smile, her voice gentle when she spoke. “Thanks, Garrus.”

Garrus met her smile with a turian one and clasped her hand between his. “Anytime, Shepard.”


	12. L is for Long-Range

_adj. designed to cover or operate over a long distance_

Shepard cleared her rifle and rose from behind cover. “Seventeen.”

Garrus’s mandibles drooped in what she would call a turian pout. “Damn.”

“What’d you have, ten?”

“Twelve.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t been stealing shots.” He gave her a pointed glare.

She smirked broadly. “Shoot faster next time.”

“Admit it. In a fair fight, I’d win.”

“Not much incentive for me to fight fair, is it?”

“If it’s incentive you want, I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

They both jumped a little when Thane cleared his throat. The assassin himself was stoic as ever, save for a glint of amusement in his gaze. “If you two are finished flirting, perhaps we should move on.”

Garrus choked a little at that, while Shepard rubbed her nose sheepishly. “Right.”


	13. M is for Maintenance

_n. the process of keeping something in good condition_

Deep into the night shift, while most of the crew is content with sleeping, the commander and gunnery officer help the mess hall live up to its name. Rifle parts and tools are outnumbered only by oil-coated rags and bits of cotton. There are few people either of them trust to touch their weapons, the pieces of machinery that have become an extension of themselves. With each other they hand parts back and forth easily, pointing out problems and aiding with modifications.

The conversation was light and warm, banter and snark mixed with technical talk. This was normal, but every so often one of them would say something that would make the other pause, a deeper meaning sinking in. Perhaps it was over-thinking or reading too much into it, but the moment of quiet from the speaker told otherwise. It made for a subtle undercurrent of nerves that ran through the usual companionship they had. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just one that went with a realization. They were starting to figure out what seemed obvious to the rest of the crew: Shepard and Vakarian fit together.


	14. N is for Name

_n. a word or phrase by which a person or thing is known_

She’s heard her name used in many ways. Spoken with professional respect was a common use. Others liked to layer it with honey in attempts to persuade. Lately it was tossed around like a bartering chip, something to aid in gaining fame and affluence. And it was hard to pick out a day when she hadn’t heard it coated in hatred and spat like poison.

Of all the variations she’s heard, she likes the way he says it best. With a quiet reverence, as if he’s honored to be trusted with this. A note of affection, and bemusement.

“Hira.”


	15. O is for Once

_adv. for one time_

“Hopefully that’s not offensive in human culture-”

“Garrus.”

He stops, certain he’s said something wrong. “Er, yes?”

Hira smiles. “Breathe.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging. He wants so badly for this to work, but it feels like an awkward mess. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She reaches over and taps the console. The music stops; Garrus isn’t sure if that lessens the awkwardness or makes it worse.

“I just…” he pauses, trying to figure out what he wants to say. “I’ve seen so many things go wrong. My work at C-Sec, what happened with Sidonis, I…I want something to go right. Just once, I-”

He stops at the feel of her hand against his face, her palm surprisingly warm and soft against his plating. She steps closer and he rests his forehead against hers. They stand there for a moment, just breathing. The pad of her thumb smoothes across his scarred mandible and he raises a hand to her shoulder. Her skin is soft and pliant to the touch and he wonders if she’s that soft everywhere.

She interrupts his thoughts with a kiss. He goes still for a moment, uncertain what to do. He’s never done this before. It occurs to him that she hasn’t either, and the tension leaves him as he leans into the contact. When she breaks away she doesn’t pull back far and he feels her smile.

He tries kissing her; it’s a bit awkward for a few seconds and he has to stop and try again. The second time is much better, if her soft sigh is any indication, and Garrus thinks that he rather likes kissing her. Emboldened, he breaks the kiss, dipping his head to nuzzle at her throat. Her breath hitches sharply and when she breathes his name he can’t help feeling a little smug. “Did I find an erogenous zone?”

“Smartass,” she grumbles, and places a hand on his chest to put some distance between them. For a second he thinks something’s gone wrong, but she’s smiling. He’s seen her smile a few times before, but always with a hint of bitter, sadness she can’t seem to shake off. This time it’s all warmth and it’s infectious.

She takes his hand and gently tugs him toward the bed and he thinks that for once it’s going to be right.


	16. P is for Promise

_n. an agreement to do or not to do something_

Garrus holds back as everyone files out of the comm room. For once there’s no banter, no bickering, everyone focused on what’s ahead. Weeks of planning and fighting together, and now it all came down to this fight.

Hira lets out a breath when they’re the only people left. “Here we go again. Just like old times, right?”

“Not quite,” he points out, his tone equal parts teasing and concern. He trusts her judgment, but the first part of their plan doesn’t sit well with him.

She nods, understanding. “Need you leading the other team. Krios and Massani will come with me.” She pauses for a moment, gaze searching his face. “Know you don’t like it, but you’re the best choice.”

He can’t help raising a brow-plate at that. “I am?”

“Yes,” she answers firmly, as though her words are pure fact. “Give sound observations, work well under stress. When you give an order, people follow it.”

He lets those words sink in for a moment, remembers the last time they’d had a conversation like this. She still believes in him, after everything that’s happened.

“I won’t let you down,” he promises.

“You never do.” She raises a hand to his face, tips of her gloved fingers ghosting over his scarred mandible. He leans into her touch, covering her hand with his own. There’s a tenderness to her gaze that he’s only seen a few times. It’s humbling, that she’ll show this side to him alone.

“Don’t die,” she orders with a smile, and he nods once in agreement.


	17. Q is for Qualm

_n. an uneasy feeling of doubt, worry, or fear_

The door slammed shut, bringing the battle to an abrupt halt. Hira shouldered her rifle looked around to mentally count those who had made it through, figure out who hadn’t. A part of her couldn’t believe they’d made it as far as they had.

She froze when her gaze fell on Garrus sagged against the door, holding his waist. In her mind she saw him lying in a pool of blue, unmoving.

_No. Not you. Not again._

She moved forward and grasped his shoulder. He straightened at her touch and when she looked him over she saw nothing. He was fine.

She let out a breath of relief. He chuckled at her, earning a sharp glare.

“Don’t do that,” she warned him.

“Sorry,” he answered, mandibles spread in a grin that spoke otherwise.

Oh, she would get him for this.


	18. R is for Run

_v. to flee_

Garrus jumped into the airlock after Thane, turning in time to see a slab of metal clash into the platform they’d just been standing on. His gaze locked onto Hira; she’d fallen behind them at some point, and was now running up the slope.

“C’mon,” he muttered. “You can make it.”

Hira didn’t pause at the sight of the gap waiting for her, she just jumped. Everything seemed to stop for a second as she hung there in midair and Garrus’ visor calculated the leap and told him exactly what he didn’t want to know.

She wasn’t going to make it.

Brilliant blue energy suddenly flared around Hira. Garrus had just enough time to realize that it was biotics before Hira was thrown into him and they both tumbled to the floor. The airlock closed, Joker shouted something, but neither soldier moved until the ship began to tremble, and then only to hold on a little tighter.

The tremors stopped with a slight jolt and Garrus opened his eyes. Hira raised her head, looking around at the crew as if searching, or counting. The crew watched Joker and EDI quietly as the pilot asked where they were. The AI replied, “The Omega nebula.”

“We made it,” Joker finally announced. “We did it. We’re alive!”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but the cheers and laughter spread like fire. Hira didn’t say anything, simply nodded and fell back against Garrus with a relieved sigh.

It was a few minutes before the crew realized they’d fallen asleep there.


	19. S is for Scars

_n. a mark left after a wound, burn, etc. has healed_

Hira smiled at the lump of a turian curled up next to her. “You awake?”

Garrus rumbled softly and shifted a little against the mattress, blue eyes blinking lazily. “Mhm. That just feels nice.”

She hummed and continued tracing circles along his neck and cowl. Their first night together had been a bit awkward, they hadn’t had the time to truly figure out what worked and what didn’t. After their return from Omega 4, they quickly took advantage of the new-found time to learn each other, and it had left them both sated, content to simply lie there and be.

His mandible twitched as her fingers drifted over his scar. “That tickles.”

She smirked and traced the lines of scar tissue. Weeks ago the marks had been almost painful to look at, but now the rawness had ebbed. He still winced a little when he laughed, but gentle touches didn’t seem to bother him.

“You’re enjoying this,” he observed with a rumble.

“Yes.”

He ran his talons over the cluster of lines on her shoulder, one of the remnants from Lazarus. Most of them had faded, but there’s a few that Hira suspected she’d always have.

“Just remember I’m not the only one who’s seen their share of dangers,” he teased as he slipped his hand to the burn marks on her arm.

“Used to have more of them,” she mused softly. “Kind of miss them.”

“I remember this one.” He tapped the bridge of her nose lightly.

She smirked. “Hard to miss. Torfan, tripped and cracked my face open.”

Garrus snorted and flinched as his mandible stuttered. “I was expecting something a bit more…I don’t know, dramatic.” Still chuckling, he picked up her hand by the wrist. “I remember seeing a few here?”

“Good eye. Was a black-ops mission, had to break that wrist to get out of some restraints. Left a few marks.”

One by one she pointed out old wounds: bullet holes, shrapnel, knives. The marks were gone, but she remembered them and their stories perfectly. Garrus listened attentively, talons memorizing the locations as she spoke. When she ran out of stories, he told his own, guiding her fingers to the notches in his plates and skin. It was a different way of learning each other than what had occupied them moments before, but no less treasured by both of them.


	20. T is for Togs

_n. clothing_

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand human fashion,” Garrus mused as they passed a gaggle of the Citadel’s more gaudy residents.

Hira smirked. “You’re one to talk. How do turian civvies even work?”

His tone turned sly. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

She shrugged. “Got distracted. Maybe next time I’ll just grab a pair of scissors.”

“I’d appreciate it if you don’t destroy my clothes.”

“Only if you promise to take them off quickly. You’re enough of a tease as it is.”

His mandibles stuttered slightly at that, and a tell-tale glint appeared in his gaze as he hummed thoughtfully.

Hira frowned, realizing her mistake. “Shouldn’t have told you that.”

Garrus gave her a turian grin. “What can I say, I’m a bad turian.”

She slapped his shoulder lightly and shook her head, stifling a laugh.


	21. U is for Upkeep

_n. the process of keeping something in good condition_

“Thanks, Doctor,” Hira murmured just loud enough to be heard over the buzzing razor.

Chakwas smiled. “It’s no trouble, Shepard. It’s actually rather refreshing, doing something new for a change.”

Hira smirked briefly and watched wisps of blonde hair fall to the floor. They weren’t very long, not much more than a half inch, which was long enough for her. Normally she’d take care of it herself, but Chakwas had offered to do it, “since you’re here anyway.”

Chakwas suddenly paused, turning toward the door. Hira looked up to see Garrus standing there looking as if someone had slapped him in the face.

“Good evening, Garrus,” Chakwas greeted.

He didn’t respond, staring dumbly at Hira; the commander simply raised a brow and asked, “What?”

Garrus raised a hand to his fringe, mandibles twitching in agitation as he tried to find words. Finally he blurted, “Does that hurt?”

She smirked, both amused and touched by his concern. “No. Humans don’t have nerve endings in their hair.”

Garrus didn’t seem reassured by this, moving closer to get a better look. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Just trimming up the commander’s hair,” Chakwas answered as she resumed her work. “You didn’t think it was naturally that short, did you?”

“I did wonder.”

Hira chuckled at that. “Just prefer it short. Don’t have to deal with blonde curls in my face.”

He snorted, and then tilted his head thoughtfully, trying to picture it. After a moment, he shook his head. “I can’t see it.”

“I have,” Chakwas informed him as she switched off the razor. “It’s beautiful.”

“One woman’s opinion,” Hira argued.

Chakwas laughed. “Was there something you needed, Garrus?”

Garrus flashed a turian smile at the doctor. “Just wondering why Shepard hadn’t shown up to lecture me about my bandage yet.”

“Sit,” Shepard directed, amusement taking the bite out of her tone.

He obediently settled onto the chair she’d just vacated while she retrieved the needed supplies. The old bandage came away freely, as it had every night since Shepard had insisted she change it for him if he was going to keep forgetting it.

“How’s it look?” Garrus asked conversationally.

Hira peered at his wounds briefly. “Good. Chakwas?”

The doctor paused her sweeping, gently moving Hira slightly to the side for a better look. “Much better. In a few months you may not need that bandage.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“But then what will you do to torture me, Shepard?” Garrus asked, mandibles quirked into a sly grin.

She coolly spritzed his face with antiseptic and he winced. “I have my ways.” He laughed, and she noticed with some relief that he didn’t flinch at the action.

“Lift your feet, Garrus,” Chakwas instructed, tapping her broom against his toes.

He obeyed, watching bemusedly while Chakwas swept up the last of the mess. He looked up and smirked at Hira. “You are messy, Shepard.”

“Every species needs maintenance of some sort,” she retorted.

“Yes, but not every species requires so much of it,” he replied glibly, rubbing her head lightly. Her hair prickled his palm, both soft and sharp at the same time.

She shook her head, chuckling, and gently removed his hand from her head. “Says the turian who has to be reminded about his own maintenance.”

“We all have our faults.”

Chakwas, who’d remained a silent presence thus far, could’ve said a number of things at this point, but at the sight of their interlocked hands, she just smiled slyly and carried on with her work.


	22. V is for Vivid

_adj. intense_

It’s the blue ambiance from the empty tank that reminds her where she is, or more to the point tells her where she’s not. Still, it takes a moment for her to focus on the cabin and remember. The sudden flow of adrenaline leaves her in a heavy sigh as she covers her face with a trembling hand.

There’s a light touch on her shoulder and she almost jumps, blinking wildly at the turian beside her. “I woke you,” she says, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Garrus sits up a little, his mandibles twitching slightly in concern. “Bad dreams?”

She nods slowly, her breaths starting to even out. “I-I’ve had them off and on for years…since Torfan. Got a bit worse after Eden Prime. Recently Alchera’s been making an appearance.” The words take effort to get out, things she’s kept to herself for years, and she stops there, focusing on putting the memories out of her mind.

He shifts closer and takes her hand. “Think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”

Hira shakes her head slowly. She’s awake now, old ghosts flitting about in her head. It would take time to chase them off again.

Garrus wraps an arm around her and pulls her close, nuzzling her scalp. She leans into him, turian plates cool against her skin. His talons trace idle circles along her spine, slowly easing the tension in her limbs.

Her thoughts quiet down after a while, and when she runs her fingers along the lines of his chest, it’s with a steady hand. She takes his hand in hers and presses a kiss into his palm. “Thank you.”


	23. W is for Wonder

_n. something strange and surprising_

Garrus settled into the back of the aircar, leaning forward when he saw Shepard ponder the controls. “You do know how to drive a car, don’t you?”

Shepard didn’t look up from the console as she directed the vehicle into the air. “Can’t be that hard.”

“We are going to die.”

“Ye of little faith.”

The aircar rushed forward, jolting all of them back into their seats. Hira frowned at the sound of a solid thud from the back and glanced over her shoulder. “Why are you not wearing a seatbelt?”

“Not much point,” Garrus explained, leaning forward again as they swerved around buildings after Vasir. “You’re going to kill us anyway.”

“Don’t make me come back there and kick your ass.”

Liara called their attention back to the lane they had just turned into. “Traffic, oncoming traffic!”

“We’ll be fine,” Garrus assured. “I’ve done this before.”

“Really?” Shepard queried. “How many times?”

“At least once. You?”

“This is a first for me.”

“Then maybe I should drive. Look out for the proximity charges, by the way.”

“I saw them.” She swerved the car around and floored it, sending them careening forward as the charge exploded somewhere behind them. “Don’t need a back-seat driver.”

“Can I be a front-seat driver?”

“I’m driving.”

“You _always_ get to drive,” Garrus whined, mandibles spread in a grin.

Liara once more directed their attention to oncoming threats. “She’s got reinforcements!”

“What kind of guns does this thing have?”

Liara’s tone spoke volumes on her trust in Shepard’s sanity. “It’s a taxi. It has a fare meter.”

“Great.”

“You want to pull up next to them and I’ll charge them double-miles?”

“Very funny, Garrus.”

“Truck!” Liara yelped as a multi-car collision played out before them.

“We know,” the soldiers replied in tandem.

Shepard directed the aircar to the far left of the tunnel, slipping easily through the space between wall and truck. “There we go.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Aren’t you?” Garrus asked.

Liara opened her mouth to argue, but then they turned into oncoming traffic once again. “A head-on collision at this speed…”

Shepard didn’t sound worried. “Yeah, hear those can be bad for you.”

“Let’s avoid that, Shepard.”

“C’mon, Vakarian, I know you love catching things with your face.”

“Truck!” Liara warned.

Shepard frowned, her tone one of casual surprise. “What, again?”

“C’mon now, only one truck per car chase. That’s the rule.”

“You want to try telling him that? He’s a bit bigger than you.”

Liara looked at the pair of them and briefly wondered how in the galaxy they weren’t married already.


	24. X is for Xenophilia

_n. an attraction to foreign peoples or cultures_

Hira darts to a new sniper position, her cloak still active as she settles into a crouch. A little ways ahead she can see Garrus crouched behind a fallen pillar and picking off targets attempting to rush his position. Normally her first thought would be to start sniping (and maybe steal one of his targets), but for a moment she’s distracted by the view of one very fine turian.

“ _Shepard, do you plan to use that cloak for something?_ ”

She jumps a little - how Thane always knows when she’s cloaked, she’ll probably never learn. She rubs her nose sheepishly and answers with a soft chuckle, “Depends on the something you’re thinking of, Krios.”

Neither of them answer when Garrus asks what’s so funny.


	25. Y is for Yearn

_v. to feel tenderness_

Garrus has a bad feeling about this mission from the start. Sending her alone, into batarian space, with little intel as to what’s going on, reeks of stupidity. She agrees with him, but she’s not about to turn down the admiral, and so she goes.

A day goes by without word and he knows something went wrong. The second day ticks by slowly as they do what little surveillance they can. Mostly they wait. Garrus develops a distinct hatred for waiting.

Finally they get a message from her: a location and two words. Pickup now.

Garrus is there when she jumps into the airlock, but she doesn’t stop for him, she doesn’t even stop to tear off her helmet, slipping out of his grasp to shout at Joker, “Get us out of here now!”

She still doesn’t stop, marching around to the galaxy map, helmeted gaze glued on the marker for the system. The Normandy hums softly as they jump and the marker disappears. She stands there for a moment, staring at the empty space, and then turns to leave. Garrus stays at her side, helping her pull the helmet off as the elevator doors close

She doesn’t say anything, just rests her head on his shoulder and sags against him. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. Thoughts dart through his mind, things he wants to say.

_I was worried._

_I’m glad you’re alright._

_Please don’t do that again._

But something tells him these things aren’t what she needs to hear right now, so he stays quiet.


	26. Z is for Zero

_n. the lowest point or degree_

Hira walked into the main battery and leaned against the rail beside Garrus without a word. She felt his gaze on her briefly, but she didn’t look up from her study of the floor tiles.

After a full minute of silence, she spoke. “Going to tell the team to pack up and leave.”

She heard the console power down, his footsteps, but she still didn’t look up. She didn’t need to see the question in his eyes to know what it was. “Alliance will probably arrest me officially to placate the batarians. Best if everyone leaves before that happens. Don’t need people getting stupid ideas.”

Garrus was quiet for a long moment. She kept her gaze on the floor, some part of her determined to stay the professional, and she knew she couldn’t do that and look at him at the same time. Not now.

“Dr. Chakwas was saying you could use a break,” he finally mused.

She couldn’t help chuckling at that. “Right. Vacation, should be nice. But then again, it’s Earth.”

He rumbled softly, resting a hand on her arm. “Well, come find me when your break’s over.”

She nodded, her voice steadier than she felt. “Don’t piss off any merc gangs this time, okay?”

“You catch one rocket with your face,” Garrus grumbled.

Her smile was brief, quickly smothered by thoughts. She heard his armor clatter as he pulled it off. He cupped her face and she leaned into the contact, shutting her eyes tight.

“Hira.”

Finally she met his gaze, giving up on hiding behind professionalism. He’d always been able to see through it anyway, just as he did now.

When he wrapped his arms around her she didn’t pull away, instead latching onto him tightly and burying her face in the crook of his neck. She took a deep breath, trying to commit to memory the feel and scent and everything that made him uniquely him. For the next few months at least, memories would be all she’d have. She didn’t know how long the Alliance would keep her in custody.

It was painfully ironic, that only a few years ago she was content with solitude. Now…

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered. She felt silly and childish for saying it. Being military wasn’t about what you wanted. What you wanted often didn’t matter.

Garrus didn’t tell her those things, and he didn’t say goodbye. He held her close, one hand tracing her back as if memorizing its shape. When he did speak, it was a soft, “See you when I see you.”

She remembered the last time she’d heard that. She’d been the one saying it to him, when he’d left the original Normandy. Hira didn’t like goodbyes, so she’d used that as a farewell instead. It was a bit comforting to hear it from him now, a reminder that this wasn’t permanent.

“See you when I see you,” she echoed.


End file.
